


Pit Stop

by You_Are_As_Alone_As_I_Am



Series: Cal Roberts & Nigel - A Hannigram AU [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman, The Path (TV), The Path On Hulu
Genre: Absolutely No Plot Just An Excuse To Worship Cal Roberts, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Dominant Cal Roberts, Hand Jobs, I am Sin and Trash, M/M, NSA, PWP, The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman - Freeform, The Path - Freeform, The Path on Hulu - Freeform, hannigram AU, no regrets, semen eating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9278783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/You_Are_As_Alone_As_I_Am/pseuds/You_Are_As_Alone_As_I_Am
Summary: Nigel takes a break at a truck stop and encounters Cal Roberts as he's cleaning up after the (Spoiler Alert)  Thing happens from Season One of The Path On Hulu.





	1. Chapter One - Pit Stop

  
  
Driving all night, Nigel’s eyes had become bleary from the road. The lines had just begun to hypnotize him with their Morse code; he drifted off, forgetting everything, mind wandering absently. Dawn was just peaking over the horizon, and looking down at his fuel gauge, he knew it was about time to stop for gas. Some coffee wouldn't hurt either. Stretch his legs, splash some water on his face, get some joe, drain the main vein, tank up.

The Romanian sauntered into the men's room, headed straight for a stall, already working down his fly, and there, he encountered the eighth wonder of the world. He supposed one could find all manner of oddities in a truck stop men's room but this was...well...his jaw came unhinged.

A young man stood at the sink, shirt off, scooping water over his head with his hands, bathing himself right there. He was compact and lean. Broad, straight shoulders. Collarbone so prominent, it looked like it was carved from bronze. Beautiful vertical lines, trailing between his pectorals, leading downward from his belly button. An indent dappling along his spine accentuated by a statuesque posture. Ridges of muscle at his rib-cage and pelvic curves. Close cropped dark hair, clean-shaved to reveal a jawline that could cut rocks.

He was simply covered in dirt, making a mess everywhere. Nigel imagined transients did it often enough, but this was no homeless bum. This was some kind of fucking angel fallen from heaven itself. All Nigel could do was stand there and stare with his mouth open. The young man looked up, his face and body dripping wet, and piercing, enormous blue eyes fringed with dark lashes cut through Nigel like he could see into his soul. Nigel actually gasped and staggered backwards at the eye contact, and nothing ever fucking shocked him or caught him off guard.

“I...I...I...well, fuck..” Nigel stammered.

“No, it's fine, sorry about the mess,” the young man returned in a deep, serious, ragged voice.

Nigel swore to Christ, he couldn't even talk. The man looked like a god, or at least like a Calvin Klein model or some shit. He felt like he was in a bad porno. Maybe a good porno. Maybe, he thought to himself, I drove off the road somewhere back and hit a tree and this is fucking heaven.

“I'll be out of here in a minute,” the gorgeous, half-naked man said, looking down at the sink and soaping up his hands and arms again. Long, slender fingers worked over hard biceps and thick forearms.

Being released from that gaze, Nigel took the opportunity to stroll casually into a stall. There was no one else in there. He unzipped but damn it, of course, how was he supposed to take a fucking piss now. Fucking hard as a rock. Nigel heard him out there, splashing water on himself like he's in slow motion in a goddamned car wash commercial, and the blonde leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. Fuck.

He heard the water shut off, followed by rustling. Oh thank fuck, maybe he's leaving now, Nigel thought with a sigh.

Suddenly the door to his stall burst open. It was the Angel. Except now, he's cleaned up and dry and wearing a tee shirt (that's fucking painted on) that says “Milton”.

The young man is standing in front of Nigel. He steps inside and shuts the stall door. Nigel looks down at him and arches an eyebrow. And me, the fucking idiot holding my hard dick in my hand willing it to do down so I can fucking piss. The kid’s stare is the most intense thing the criminal has ever experienced in his life, which is really fucking saying something.

“I need your help,” he says, and Nigel swears, if he'd asked him to slit his own throat, he would have. The way he said it, and looked at him, this man is a fucking deity.

Nigel stared at him and vibrated from the potency of his energy. The only way he could describe his presence was like a compressed hyper-nova. Nigel was high as a kite in school, but still remembered shit like that.

“Move over, let me sit,” he said.

The Romanian crammed his junk in his jeans, zipped up, and moved aside as best he could in the tiny space. The younger man pushed himself up against Nigel, shorter by at least half a foot but not in any way seeming it, and he could feel his hard nipples brush right against his chest as he did. Nigel slid to the front of the stall, still stunned, but fully erect.

He sat down, leaned back against the tank, and looked up at Nigel, spreading his legs open.

“Kneel,” he said.

OH.

OH.

The older man complied, because fuck if he could have refused him.

“Unzip me,” the Angel commanded.

Nigel reached for his fly and noticed a considerably generous length filling the space down his right pant leg, and briefly considered how long it had been since he’d done this and if he could possibly do justice to a god, but then realized the younger man couldn't possibly have high expectations from a fucking stranger at a truck stop.

As he reached inside to tug out his cock and balls, the man shifted his hips up slightly to allow Nigel better access. The Romanian licked his full lips and began to lower his head, but the young man stopped him.

“No,” he said. “Just your hands.”

Nigel looked up at him with burning, amber eyes, almost disappointed at that point. His cock was just as beautiful as the rest of his being. He nodded and wrapped his right hand around the base, tugging upward as it slowly began filling and hardening. With his left hand, Nigel reached into his thick nest of lush dark public hair to run calloused fingertips under his balls and pull them out more fully, cradling and rolling them in his hand as he stroked.

“Spit on it, then stroke,” he instructed.

Nigel spit, first one staccato burst directly on the tip, followed by a long strand of saliva that he allowed to drip slowly down the length. He palmed over his cock head quickly, getting the whole thing wet before fisting down sharply, tightly, all the way down the length and back up again. His sharp intake of breath told the Romanian it was exactly what he wanted.

They fell into a rhythm, Nigel stroking him and fondling, tugging at his balls and the root of his cock beneath, his breath deepening. At first, the young man would only breath through his nose vigorously. Beads of sweat dappled his forehead, lips closed tightly in a seam, sharp blue eyes wide on Nigel’s big, rough hands working. After a few minutes, though, his lips parted, and his breathing became deeper, less steady. Nigel spit into his palm and closed his fist around the younger man’s spongy cock head, playing with the tip, sliding the pad of a fingertip over his slit while he used his other hand to work beneath his balls, stroking his perineum with gradually deepening pressure. The god started moaning, and Nigel pushed down on the base of his cock, holding tightly to delay his orgasm. He bit his beautiful lip and nodded, grunting, and Nigel continued to stroke. Every time the Romanian felt his orgasm build, he’d stop and bring him back, teasing him. Finally his cerulean eyes locked on Nigel’s, and he couldn't take it anymore.

“I need to cum, make me cum,” he whispered hoarsely.

Spitting directly into his hands, Nigel gripped tightly and stroked fast, steady, staring at his beautiful, long neck as he leaned his head back, eyes closed, wherever his reverie took him, mouth open, panting, moaning, gasping. He shot white-hot ribbons of cum all over Nigel, himself, the floor, everywhere. It was like this angel had not cum in 10 years. Nigel couldn't help himself; he lapped up what ended up on his hands, needing to savor him. He tasted just as Nigel thought he would, like an angel.

“My fucking pleasure, gorgeous,” Nigel replied, a little sad as he left. He went to wash his hands and noticed a pamphlet on the floor. The kid had obviously dropped it. It had some kind of weird eye on the front, with an address and phone number on the back. Nigel grinned and tucked it in his pocket. Upstate NY, and what do you know, he was headed right for Brooklyn...


	2. Stray Dogs - Pit Stop Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nigel goes to the Meyerist Compound to find Cal. And find him he does.

Nigel drove fast, too fast, Blue Oyster Cult blaring from the speakers as he sped past the trees and rolling hills out of the city. He picked up the tattered piece of paper from atop his black overnight duffel on the seat next to him to check the address he put in his phone. Fuck this place was in the sticks. He ashed his cigarette out the window. He'd never drive this far out for anything, but he had time to kill, middle of the week, the boys had everything under control for a few days, he made up some excuse about needing to get away. People knew better than to question him.

 

The Romanian pulled up to the big iron gates, and a guard stopped him to ask what his business there was. He held the piece of paper out the window. “Found this. Read it. I'm interested in learning more. This the place?” The friendly man nodded and directed him to some smaller buildings down the road. He grinned and thanked the man, driving where he was directed.

 

Nigel parked and finished his cigarette, crushing it under his heel as a pretty young woman emerged from one of the buildings and approached him. She was dressed like a complete hippie, all long, flowery skirt and loose-fitting peasant blouse, her long chestnut hair cascading around her shoulders in waves. Definitely not his type, but not bad on the eyes.

 

“Hello. May I help you?” she asked, surveying him with a calm smile.

 

“Hi. I found this in the city, read it. Met one of your guys. Wanted to find your place, ask you about it.”

 

“Of course, please come in. Not to be rude, but would you mind not leaving that on the ground? I have a trash can, in here,” she gestured inside the office.

 

The whole place was clean. The air was fresh and crisp, nothing out of place, an air of serenity in everything from the buildings to the faces of the people he passed. Everything inside him was yelling that he didn't belong here, but he came all this way, and had to find that gorgeous kid again. He bent down to pick the burned-out filter off the gravel, and followed her inside.

 

He entered a very small office, windows open and light streaming in. The first thing he noticed was the gigantic eye on the wall behind her desk. As he was stuck staring at it, she held out a trash can and he dropped it inside.

 

“I'm Sarah. And you are...?” she asked, her voice lifting in question at the end.

 

“Nigel,” he said, taking the hand she offered and shaking it a bit stronger than she obviously expected. He quickly released her hand and she pointed at a chair on the other side of her desk.

 

“Please, sit down, Nigel. And welcome. May I ask specifically what questions you have? What brings you here?”

 

Nigel sat back and crossed his legs. “Yeah. I found this after I ran into a guy, like I said. I think it was his. He had some interesting shit to say. I wondered if he might be here so I can talk to him again.”

 

Sarah looked at him quizzically. “Where did you meet him, in the city? What did he look like?”

 

“Closer to the city, yeah. I don't know, average height, short hair. Lean, muscular. Blue eyes, I think. ” He didn't think, he _knew_. Those eyes were burned into his memory, probably forever.

 

Sarah smiled. “You might be thinking of Cal. Cal Roberts. He's the leader here. I can take you to his office if you wish? He would also be well equipped to answer any questions you might have.”

 

Nigel nodded. It might not be the right guy, then again, how fucking hilarious if the kid he had a hot anonymous sexual encounter was actually the leader of this fucking cult, or whatever it was. “Yeah, that would be great.”

 

Sarah rose after checking something on her laptop. “You have great timing. He's here today. I'll take you to his office,” she said, rising and moving to the door to hold it open for him.

 

She led Nigel down a grassy path to another building, a larger one next to a big red barn. Sarah knocked on the door, and just _who_ should open it, but the very fucking god incarnate Nigel had met at that rest stop weeks ago.

 

“Cal, this gentleman found one of our pamphlets, said he met you awhile back near the city? At least, I'm guessing it was you,” she paused, and from the look on each of their faces it was clear she guessed right. Recognition, and Cal appeared instantly nervous. “Cal?” she prodded as he simply stood there staring.

 

Cal moved his expression into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Yes, Sarah, thank you. Hello again, ahhh,” the young man made a face as though he were trying to remember Nigel's name, and held out his hand in greeting.

 

“Nigel. And you are Cal, I see,” Nigel said, taking Cal's hand and gripping it tightly.

 

Sarah interrupted obliquely, her eyes shifting back and forth between the men. “If you'll excuse me, I do have a class, so, Cal? Nigel, it was great to meet you. I hope you'll find what you're looking for with us,” Sarah said as she turned to leave.

 

“Thanks,” Nigel said after her. As she left, Nigel moved past Cal inside the office. Cal closed the door behind them and made his way behind his desk.

 

Nigel sprawled out comfortably in the chair in front of Cal's desk, this time, barely noticing the even bigger eye on the wall behind the beautiful young man.

 

“I'd ask how you found me, but clearly I left that behind,” Cal said, pointing to the crumpled paper in the pocket of Nigel's shirt.

 

“Indeed, you fucking did. How fortunate for both of us.” Nigel smirked, his full lips curling into a smirk. “Leader of this place she says, eh?”

 

Cal sat behind his desk, steepling his fingers in front of his chin. “Yes. What do you want? Why are you here, Nigel?”

 

“Right to the fucking point? Hoping for a repeat of the other night, gorgeous.” Nigel stood and moved to the other side of the desk, getting uncomfortably close to Cal.

 

Cal nervously ran his fingers over the wood of the desk. “I don't think that's a very good idea. That was...that was a momentary weakness on my part,” Cal answered, rising slowly from his chair to meet Nigel's warm, gold eyes in an effort to posture a bit. He puffed his chest out a little and cleared his throat. “I think you should leave, Nigel.”

 

“I just got here. I'm a lost soul looking for fucking answers, Cal, and you're the man to lead me there, to the, ahh, Light? Is that what you call it?” Nigel invaded Cal's space even further, trapping Cal between his desk and the chair. He reached for Cal, his fingers grazing his strong jawline. “Don't you want to show me?”

 

Cal swallowed thickly, lowering his own stormy blue eyes and focusing on Nigel's lips. “I'm a spiritual leader, Nigel. I can't do that... _this._ It was a mistake.”  
  


Nigel held Cal's chin, brushing his lips slowly over Cal's, hearing the audible hitching of his breath and gasp at the older man's boldness. It was almost comical to the Romanian, how coy he was being after what they did that night. His tongue swept over Cal's bottom lip at his reaction, pressing further to gain entrance to his mouth. Cal moaned a bit and parted his lips to the man with a sigh.

 

“A mistake, huh. Doesn't feel like one,” Nigel said in his thick Eastern European accent. Cal curled his fingers into the front of Nigel's shirt in a weak attempt to push him away. It quickly changed to pulling him closer.

 

“Shut up,” Cal sighed, crashing his mouth back into Nigel's with barely repressed lust. He pulled away quickly, striding for the door, and Nigel groaned in frustration, pushing down his erection. “Where the fuck are _you_ going, then?” he asked.

 

Cal looked out the window before shutting the blinds and drawing the curtains, then strolling to the door. He flipped a small sign hanging there that read _“In session”_ , and proceeded to lock it.

 

When he turned, there was a dark glint in his blue eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line, nostrils flared from exhaling heavily through them. His entire demeanor, the way he held his body, all of it changed before Nigel's eyes. “I'm not leaving. Take off your clothes,” he instructed, his voice strong and even. “All of them.”

 

Nigel grinned and cast him a sultry look, coming around to the opposite side of the desk now, their strides matching each other like a mirror: Tall, rough blonde and measured, clean-cut brunet. Utter opposites with the same appetite, the same desire.

 

Nigel flicked his thumbs down his shirt, freeing the buttons and revealing a broad chest of sinew covered in dark brown and silver, wiry hair. As he shed the garment, a long, angry old scar was revealed from visible ribs to the cut of his hip. Cal stood with his hands in his pockets, lips still pressed together, simply watching, his own erection tenting the fabric of his khaki trousers.

 

The Romanian unbuckled his belt with a loud _clink_ that echoed in the small room, followed by the sound his zipper made as he pulled it down. He toed off his boots and discarded the jeans on the floor haphazardly. Now completely nude, he stood with Cal's desk to his back, facing the young man, a thick, uncut cock jutting obscenely from his body, hanging down against a furry thigh and filling rapidly.

 

As Nigel lost the bottom half of his clothes, Cal's mouth opened slightly, his gaze following the dark trail of hair to the aforementioned heavy flesh between his legs. Cal walked to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and handing it to the man. “I want you to bend over this desk and work yourself open,” he said somewhat flatly as he took a seat in the chair Nigel had previously occupied. He spread his legs and rested his hand on either thigh, waiting expectantly for Nigel, arching a brow to emphasize his request.

 

Nigel was dumbstruck at Cal's directive. For all his sexual experiences, the bigger man had never in his life been asked to do this, and confusion quickly led to arousal as he did exactly as Cal asked. Bending over the desk, he poured a generous amount of lube in his hand, coating his thick fingers. He looked over his shoulder at Cal, holding eye contact as he rubbed over his hole slowly. It was apparent the very masculine older man had not frequently done this; Nigel was always a top. When he was a youth, he'd bottomed, but he had been prettier, unscarred, his defined but elegant facial features fresh and free of the lines and crags that cut across his face now. But this dynamic matched the one in the men's room from their first meeting; Cal in control, Cal calling the shots, Cal taking his pleasure from the bigger man with an effortless authority. Nigel wondered at the strength of this man who absolutely hypnotized him with his ice blue eyes, with the steadiness of his voice and the confidence that filled his words.

 

Cal licked his lips and stared, still refusing to touch himself, his erection throbbing visibly even through fabric. Nigel's heart pounded as he worked one finger inside himself. It was a foreign feeling, felt wrong. Something shouldn't be there, it stung and burned as he struggled to relax, his cock deflating. Cal noticed.

 

“Stroke yourself with your other hand, Nigel,” Cal said simply, as if he were asking him the time of day, or where he bought his tea.

 

Nigel exhaled heavily and used his free hand to begin tugging at his softened dick, still pushing his finger in and out of himself, and soon adding a second digit. He grunted wordlessly as he began to harden once more. The burn lessened, and before long he'd found that swollen gland within himself, his mouth flying open in a wordless scream. A jolt of heat shot through through him as he was reminded just exactly how fucking good it felt to be touched _there_. He scissored his fingers, twisting his wrist and pushing in desperately as the pain gave way to an excruciating form of pleasure, and he stilled from stroking his cock as he suddenly felt he might come right then and there.

 

Cal clucked his tongue and shook his head, hands now gripping the arms of his chair with white knuckles in an effort to not pull out his own turgid flesh and bring himself to completion from the sight before him. “Don't stop,” he whispered roughly.

 

“Fucking hell, I'm gonna come if I keep this up,” Nigel protested, his voice equally hoarse.

 

“Then come, Nigel. I want to watch you make yourself come on my desk,” the younger man said sharply, his voice strained.

 

Nigel moaned obscenely and began tugging the foreskin up over his spongy cock head, hand gripped in a iron fist around his aching hard flesh. At the same time, he drove his fingers into himself at a equally fast rate. A thin strand of pre come leaked onto the smooth wood of the movement leader's desk.

 

With a grunt, he shot thick white gobs of come over it's surface, his head thrown back and eyes shut tightly. Cal rose quickly, fists balled up at his sides before he reached out a hand to yank the blonde's ashy strands back.

 

“Look at me!” he commanded, and Nigel did so, his amber eyes blown black with his climax. Even as he did so, more come pulsed from his olive shaft, spilling over his knuckles and splashing onto his belly.

 

Cal released the man's hair. Having never touched himself, the brunet finally pressed down on his cock punishingly hard, willing it to go down. He grimaced in pain as it finally did from the roughness. Strolling to the other side of the room, Cal pulled a towel out of a drawer and walked back to Nigel quietly, his face suddenly serene again, softer, a sort of regret and apology in his blue eyes.

 

Nigel wiped himself with the towel, gathering his clothes and beginning to dress again, looking at Cal incredulously. “What about you?” he asked, using the clean side of the terry cloth to clean Cal's desk.

 

“You may stay here at the compound if you like. I'll have one of the girls find you a bungalow. Come back at eight a.m. tomorrow, and I'll begin to teach you about the Ladder,” he said. There was almost a sweet innocence in the way the words came out, something that made a sleeping part of the Romanian burn to life in a flaming ache.

 

Under normal circumstances, Nigel would have balked, would have cussed him out and told him to fuck himself for just bossing him around, thinking he could tell him what to do. Fucking _no one_ told the gruff Romanian what to do. Yet he found himself with an addictive sense of longing, an admiration and fascination with the heaviness of the air around Cal, a pull towards him, a desire to do as he said just to be in his presence again.

 

“Yeah,” Nigel simply said, unable to decide how else to respond.

 

Cal walked to the door and opened it, holding it for Nigel in a non-verbal dismissal. “I do have work to do, I hope you understand. Thank you, Nigel,” he said quietly. Earnest sincerity covered the young man's handsome face, and Nigel paused, dangerously close to him in the doorway, the taller man looking down at Cal like he was a living god among men. Fucking incredible.

 

Nigel straightened himself up, his old familiar swagger rushing back as he exited and walked down the steps. _What the fuck just happened,_ he wondered as he walked back towards Sarah's office to get his bag out of the trunk and find out where this fucking bungalow was. He decided he'd stay, though if he were being honest with himself, he had no choice in the matter. Cal had sucked him into orbit, just like _that_ , and Nigel sighed as he realized how utterly fucked he was to resist him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Close your eyes and listen to this as ear candy to accompany the tale. VERY NSFW, But hell of you're reading this that's not likely an issue.
> 
> http://moaningmen.tumblr.com/post/144286814959/gaelforce-edging-moaning-cumming


End file.
